


i want your stupid love

by coupe_de_foudre



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Because They're Dorks, Dancing and Singing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, inspired by THAT scene in 11x07, no beta we die like men, y'all know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coupe_de_foudre/pseuds/coupe_de_foudre
Summary: “Mornin’, babyface.” Mickey smirks, twisting his head to steal a kiss from Ian. “You sleep alright?”“Mmm,” Ian buries his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck, “would’ve been better if I woke up next to you.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 10
Kudos: 170





	i want your stupid love

**Author's Note:**

> I watched that bathroom scene on repeat for so long and, because stupid love is my bop at the moment, I was inspired to write this

Ian groans as he slowly comes to, stubbornly refusing to open his eyes in favour of rolling over and reaching an arm out to wrap around his husband’s waist. Only, there’s nothing but an empty space beside him, just cold enough to tell him that Mickey’s been up for a while now.

“Mick?” he shouts out, voice muffled by the pillow he’s burying his face into in a desperate attempt of keeping the sunlight from blinding him before he’s ready. They really need to invest in some thicker drapes.

He gets no answer so he figures Mickey isn’t in the bathroom, since that’s the only room closest for his voice to be heard and, nine times out of ten, Mickey is in there. Great. That means he has to actually _get up_.

Rolling over to his side of the bed again, Ian finally blinks open his eyes. He rubs his palms over his face as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, blinding reaching out for his phone to check the time. Barely half nine…

He groans again, almost flopping back down onto the mattress and sleeping until noon. It’s their day off, he shouldn’t have to be awake at this time unless his husband is lying next to him.

Grumbling to himself about morning people, Ian rifles through the pile of clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor of their bedroom and eventually settles on a pair of barely stained grey sweats that he slips on. He doesn’t bother with glancing in the mirror, just running a hand through his hair – it’s grown a fair bit since they moved to their own place, Mickey insisting that he likes it with a little bit of length to grab onto and Ian not strong enough to protest. It’s sound logic, really.

Even if it means he has to buy more shampoo now.

His bad mood is soon diminished the moment he steps out of the bedroom, greeted with the smell of pancakes wafting down the hallway accompanied by the easily recognisable, if slightly out of tune, singing of his husband. A smile is slowly creeping across his face, curling at the corners of his mouth, within seconds and Ian wastes no more time in heading straight for the kitchen.

Mickey has his back to him, focused on pouring more pancake batter into the pan and waving a spatula around in time with the music. Ian stifles back a laugh, a familiar fondness spreading through his chest at the sight of his husband swinging his hips to Lady Gaga – a secret pleasure of his that he will blatantly deny if anyone, other than Ian, were to call him out on it.

He knows all the words to her songs and has already told Ian they’re getting tickets when she next goes on tour, claiming they can make friends with people they’ll actually have shit in common with.

“I want your stupid love, love!” Mickey sings, flipping a pancake with a shake of his head, and Ian is immediately transported back to that time in the bathroom when his husband had gotten unusually shy singing in front of him. The memory brings a softer smile to his face and he steps further into the room, joining Mickey by the counter and brushing a kiss into his hair, his hand resting comfortably on the small of his back.

Mickey grins, bright and relaxed, and leans back into his touch.

“Mornin’, babyface.” Mickey smirks, twisting his head to steal a kiss from Ian. “You sleep alright?”

“Mmm,” Ian buries his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck, peppering open-mouthed kisses up the side of his throat and along his jawline, “would’ve been better if I woke up next to you.”

Mickey snorts, smacking him on the head with the spatula still in his hand. “Well someone’s gotta feed your lazy ass. You certainly ain’t gonna do it.”

Ian just snorts, resting his chin on Mickey’s shoulder as his husband returns his focus to the food in the pan. It does smell fucking divine, Ian has to admit, and his stomach rumbles at the promise of a good breakfast.

He starts singing again too, voice a little quieter now, almost absently. “I don’t need a reason. Not sorry, I want your stupid love.” His voice is unfairly good, even if he misses a few of the notes, and Ian’s heart flutters at the sound of it.

He joins in, arms wrapping around Mickey’s waist as he starts to sway them both to the music. A laugh breaks out of Mickey as he lets him manoeuvre him away from the pan, swivelling around in Ian’s arms to gain more room. They sing along to the chorus, and the two of them end up dancing awfully on the kitchen tiles, sharing wide smiles and pulling goofy faces at each other.

Mickey swings his arms up, closing is eyes as he hits a high note, and Ian stutters because he’s just so taken aback by the pure look of domestic bliss on his husband’s face. He looks like he belongs right here, dancing in their kitchen, his ring shimmering under the light and reminding Ian that he’s his.

Fuck, does he love this man.

Sometimes, Ian has to pinch himself to make sure that this is real life. It just seems so…not how he expected his future to turn out.

With a blissed out smile, as the song fades out into another one, Mickey slings an arm around Ian’s neck and draws him into a searing kiss. Ian falls pliant under his touch, parting his lips to allow Mickey’s tongue to lick into his mouth with reckless abandon.

He’s about to pull him closer, hands itching to get under the tank top that Mickey has thrown on, when the unmistakable stench of burning hits both of their noses and they rip apart.

Mickey scowls, rushing over to the pan.

“Ah, fuck. Look what you made me do!” he cries out, chucking the burnt pancake in the trashcan.

Ian gapes. “How the fuck is that _my_ fault?”

“You,” Mickey spins on his heel and brands the spatula in Ian’s face like a sword, “being all hot and shit, distracting me. How am I s’posed to focus on cooking when you come in fucking looking like that and luring me in?”

Ian scoffs, smirking at Mickey. “Luring you in, huh? My dancing turns you on does it?” He takes a step closer, Mickey moving back with him until Ian has him crowded against the counter, caging him in with his arms. Mickey matches his smirk, head tilted back to meet his eyes with a challenging glint in them.

“What kinda dumb, fucking question is that?”

Ian snorts before dipping down to capture Mickey’s lips in another, softer kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not 100% with these two so I'm sorry if it's ooc, I just wanted soem soft, domestic fluff and couldn't sleep until I wrote this out
> 
> tysm for reading <3


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